


Lazy Mornings

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Hawke, M/M, Other, gross domestic bs, things that are in thedas and you cannot prove otherwise: coffee and dental care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7147694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domesticity seems almost impossible for them but even the Champion of Kirkwall and their favorite glowing elf have their peaceful moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Mornings

It is rare that Fenris stays a full night with Hawke, at least at first. Often, he would see himself off in the wee hours of the morning—soothing Hawke's griping about an empty bed with promises and kisses. Or Hawke would haul themselves up to his mansion instead and sleep in the dusty sheets with him, content to simply have his warm body next to them.

But evenings where Fenris actually allowed himself to sleep in their bed, the sheets smelling like Hawke (and faintly of dog, though they swore the beast never slept with them), were noteworthy in all their rarity. Particularly for the mornings.

The sunlight woke him first, roasting his arm for a long enough period that his own reflexes moved it. He yawned, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply. Soft sheets and the smell of herbs and charcoal were enough to tell him where he was.

“Hawke...” Fenris' voice cracked, hoarse from lack of use during the night, and he cleared his throat roughly.

He yawned again, not opening his eyes as he reached out across the sheets and found Hawke's sleeping form next to him. They gave a tired little sigh but rolled towards him, limbs tangling lazily and face nestling against his chest.

Sometimes, these moments hardly felt real.

“'m hungry.” they mumbled against his shoulder.

They ran their fingers across his back, tracing some pattern wholly unrelated to his tattoos, and Fenris let out a low chuckle. He cracked an eye open to look at them—hair a mess and face still utterly serene in the line between sleeping and waking. They didn't even have to be fully conscious to declare these things, apparently.

“What do you want?” he asked.

They gave an exaggerated, sleepy sigh and Fenris pressed his lips to their hair—a gesture somewhere between encouraging and blatant adoration. After a moment, they spoke again.

“Eggs, some of that crusty bread from the other night, the most Ferelden smelling cheese we have, and fried tomatoes.”

“Eggs and tomatoes.” Fenris repeated, raising a brow even though Hawke could only tell how critical he was being by tone of voice alone.

Hawke's fingers traveled up Fenris' back and into his hair, fingernails gently scratching at his scalp. The elf gave a soft 'mm' and found himself easily distracted from his criticism of Hawke's diet, head lulling back into their hands. They'd take this opening to press a kiss to Fenris' throat, lazy and wet—more focused on teasing than seduction. Fenris sighed.

“Gross.”

Hawke laughed against his skin, fingers still working through his hair, and asked, “What's your problem with tomatoes?”

“You are my problem.” Fenris replied, shifting forward to bury his face in Hawke's hair again.

“So you don't want any eggs..?” they asked, fingers trailing back down Fenris' back in their unknown patterns, “Because I thought—“

“Three. And two pieces of toast.”

“There we go.” Hawke said, pulling back slightly to grin at him, “Want any coffee?”

“Of course.”

Hawke gave a fond little chuckle and crawled out of his arms, stretching lazily and digging through their heaped clothing to get themselves decent before they wandered from the room. Fenris watched, utterly charmed, and even allowed himself the privilege of rolling over and going back to sleep while Hawke cooked.

He didn’t sleep long before Hawke returned with breakfast, fried tomatoes and all. They ate in comfortable silence, sitting on Hawke’s bed with the tray between them. Fenris had nearly finished his coffee before Hawke leaned in, lips brushing his chin in the brief moment between sips.

“Hawke, no.” he warned.

“Hmm?”

“I am not kissing you with tomato breath.” he said with a grumble, “Go brush.”

“Do you really hate tomatoes more than you love me?”

Fenris looked at them for a moment, eyes softening, and smiled. He set his coffee aside and leaned in, forehead touching Hawke's, and allowed them to get just inches from a kiss before speaking.

“Yes, I do.”

Hawke wrinkled their nose at him, lower lip puckered out, and Fenris laughed—full and warm. They all but tackled him for this, shoving him into the pillows and slobbering wet kisses across his cheeks and nose.

“Don't you lie to me.” they growled, lips pressed to his jawline, “I know how much you love me.”

Fenris laughed and shifted in a futile attempt to be less at their mercy (not that he particularly minded his current situation). He found himself simply too lazy to fight it.

“You could be underestimating how much I hate tomatoes.” he reasoned, fighting the urge to outright giggle when Hawke pressed their lips to his ear.

“It's not possibly enough to have you deny me a kiss.”

Hawke raised up on their hands, smug grin in place, and Fenris regarded them a moment. Hair still a mess, clothing barely in the proper places anymore, and breath smelling of coffee and tomatoes and Ferelden cheese. A dream come true, really. He sighed.

“No, I suppose it isn't.”

Hawke grinned, triumphant, and swooped in for a kiss. It was lazy and sweet and, blessedly, tasted only of Hawke and nothing of breakfast.


End file.
